Looking at the subtitle of this clever guide, How to Watch Movies, I was reminded of George IV’s response when presented with a dictionary and the explanation that it tells you what English words mean. “I know what English words mean,” he huffed. “I speak English!”

Granted, that exchange took place in an episode of Blackadder, and may not be historically accurate. But it also makes clear that even those of us who watch movies – i.e., everyone – can stand a little help.

That is exactly what Ann Hornaday offers, in plainspoken language, handily divided among the elements of filmmaking – screenplay, acting, production design and so on, culminating in directing. Each chapter ends with a short list of recommended viewing for the techniques she’s just discussed.

Hornaday’s bona fides include two years as film critic for the Austin American-Statesman, three more for the Baltimore Sun and 15 at the Washington Post. I can also report from meeting her over the years at the Cannes Film Festival that she is warm and witty, the very antithesis of the stuffy cineaste. Even if she did hate Forrest Gump.

Here are five highlights from Talking Pictures: How to Watch Movies:

Everything matters. When Hornaday discusses Jack Nicholson’s performance in The Shining, she makes it seem like it’s the one thing that made that movie the classic it has become. But later she brings up the film’s intricate production design, swooping camerawork, tension-producing sound design, opening music by Berlioz, and Stanley Kubrick’s direction. (She really does like that film!) And in each case it feels as if this – no, wait, this! – is what made the movie work. But she’s not being capricious; every subset of the moviemaking process needs to do its part, or you wind up with great artistry in support of an ultimately bad movie. Like Forrest Gump.

There are no bad techniques, only bad movies. Hornaday makes it clear that there is some fine “shaky-cam” work in the likes of United 93, the Jason Bourne movies and The Hurt Locker. But then she notes that filmmakers have picked up on the technique as a shorthand for “edginess” when the script doesn’t warrant that adjective. Overacting, meandering plots, on-the-nose musical choices; none are necessarily bad if they serve the film well. Often, it all comes down to whether the final product worked.

Editing is the unsung art. Since 1980, the only film to win the Best Picture Oscar without an editing nomination was Birdman. Clearly, there’s a connection between great editing and great filmmaking. But it’s also one of the most difficult achievements to recognize. Hornaday notes that her favourite films all feature great scripts, acting and direction. “But they lived or died in the editing.” She also recalls being told by longtime editor Walter Murch, “From a surgical point of view, the best edited film of the year never gets an Oscar nomination, because it was a film that was moved by editing from un-releasable to releasable … And we’ll never know which is which.”

Directing is the art of good-enough. There’s a tendency, even among directors themselves, to underplay the importance of the boss on the set. Alan J. Pakula (All the President’s Men, Sophie’s Choice) once remarked, “For some strange reason, I always look the most talented when I’m working with the most talented people.” But there’s clearly more going on than just standing back and letting everyone else do their jobs – though that’s important sometimes, too. Jason Reitman tells Hornaday that directing is the art of making a thousand binary decisions a day. Should this be red? Yes. More extras? No. “Now, let’s say I get one of those questions wrong. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Even if I got five per cent wrong, it’ll probably fly by. But let’s say I got half of it wrong? All of a sudden, the movie is poorly directed.”

Invention is the mother of necessity. Murch helped revolutionize the aural experience of going to the movies (yes, he was a sound guy as well as an editor) with the invention of 5.1 surround sound for 1979’s Apocalypse Now. Robert Altman experimented in the 1970s with individual microphones on each of his actors to better control the sound mix. Later, high-definition digital cameras would allow filmmakers to work more quickly and cheaply. All are standard tools now, even if, as in the case of high frame rates in The Hobbit and Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, directors have sometimes pushed the technology further than they should. But by the end of Talking Pictures, it’s become clear that “how far is too far” is only understandable in hindsight. We need bad movies, if only to know what makes the precious few great.